Up In Arms
by Ro-RoWeasley
Summary: When there are reports in Iowa of belongings vanishing before the victims end up dead, the boys head off to investigate. With Castiel human and AWOL, and Dean struggling to deal with Sam's dual personalities, tensions are already high. So when the Winchester's stuff starts disappearing, can the boys hold it together? Set within Season 9.


**So, I had a few requests to turn this into a multi-chapter story as you guys loved my oneshot so much - special cookies to _Celtic Knot_! {See Ch. 2 of my oneshot collection called Let It Be}. I've expanded this from the original version and have a story in mind! You guys, my SPN Family, are the best. Hope you like! xox**

*This story is set within season 9 - this is your one and only POSSIBLE SPOILERS WARNING*

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 **UP IN ARMS  
** Chapter One

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 **B** acon and eggs sure tasted damn good after a night of heavy drinking.

Dean Winchester practically inhaled the plate before him. Food rarely did him a disservice and when nursing a hangover, this was on par with a bacon cheeseburger. He'd consumed perhaps too great a quantity of beer and whiskey the previous night, trying to drink away how he felt about the fact that Sam unknowingly had angelic company.

Sam would be pissed if he found out. However, Dean was willing to make sure that never happened even if it killed him. He'd only agreed in the first place as Ezekiel had promised it was the only way to keep his brother alive while he slowly pieced him back together from the inside out. Dean was confident they could do it without the younger Winchester even knowing what was happening.

Speaking of Sam, the 30-year-old breezed in clad in navy sweatpants that would probably come to Dean's shoulders, a grey t-shirt clinging to his bough frame. He also had a stack of papers in his hands which he slung onto the counter, while the sweat patches and trainers told him his brother had been out for a run. Damn that kid was a freak.

He stopped eating just long enough to take a long slurp of coffee, sighing contentedly as the caffeinated liquid further disintegrated the pounding in his head. His way-too-early-riser of a sibling was taking a fruit salad from the fridge and grabbing a fork before placing them in front of a chair.

"So get this, there's been a string of killings over in Bloomfield, Iowa," Sam was saying, finally pouring a steaming cup of Joe before bringing himself and the papers all over to the kitchen table. Dean assumed he'd done this research the previous night given his current post-run state. He wrinkled his nose, wondering why this rabbit food lover couldn't get himself a fresh set of clothes before gracing the Bunker with his presence. "But interview records detail some peculiar stuff. Things like random items moving around victims' homes or vanishing, started about 12 days ago."

Dean grunted in response, inviting Sasquatch to continue while he savoured his breakfast. When the nerd was in research mode it was easier to just let him talk.

"One guy, Eli Patrick-Jones, husband of victim Sarah, claims he saw a figure of a young woman. What's interesting is the 70-year gap almost to the day. Back in 1943 there are reports of the same thing. The so-called perp was never found but surviving witnesses swear they saw a young woman."

The date detail caught Dean's attention. "Possible vengeful spirit that's, what, getting its kicks messing with people before killing them?" He managed through a mouthful.

"No obvious connection between the victims themselves, other than the same town, weird happenings, and the sighting of the young woman. Though of course back in the 40s you would have most likely been seen to be crazy and locked up. Reckon we should check it out."

Dean considered, shoveling down his last mouthful of food and washing it down with the last drop of coffee. It would feel good to take Baby out on the wide open road again. After their last job over in Illinois, his pride and joy had been making some weirder than usual noises so he'd spent the past week working on her. He was content she was now road-ready again; his concern now was his brother's health. "How far?"

"A couple of hundred miles, if we leave now we can be there, checked in and ready to start by three."

"You feeling up to it? You know I'd rather you stay here until you're 100%."

The trials had taken their toll on Sam which was the whole reason for the angel possession in the first place. He didn't particularly want to risk his brother's life when Ezekiel was already working at full power within him and, hell, that was on top of resurrecting Charlie.

"Dean, we've been holed up here long enough. We have a case and I'm fine," Sam insisted, nonchalantly spooning some red abomination into his mouth.

"Alright, fine," Dean replied, standing and stretching his arms above his head before heading to the door. "But take a shower first, you stink."

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 **T** he hunter loosened his tie as he flopped back onto the thick navy sheets. Playing FBI Agents was fun and necessary but also draining, and not because of his hangover which had abated once they'd set off on the road. It was the acting, Agents Rutherford and Banks having to show law enforcement they were business, avoiding the awkward questions. Dean could never be an actor for a living.

He let out a long breath, feeling his muscles relax while Sam fussed around changing. Dean couldn't be bothered to take his fed suit off yet, savoring the opportunity to rest. After driving 6 hours to Bloomfield, finding a motel (Dean smirking at the name – Mustang Country), they'd hit the precinct to follow up on Sam's findings of vanishing possessions and murder victims. They had a few more leads to consider tomorrow but, for now, Dean was exhausted and needed a minute.

The sudden collision of the pillow with his face ended that however, as he sat bolt upright giving the culprit a look that clearly said _what the hell, man?_

"Dude, we need an extension cable," Sam said, pulling a green shirt over his head. "This place has just the two sockets occupied by the bedside lamps."

"So?" Dean retorted, annoyed.

Sam shot him a deadpan glare. "Funnily enough Dean, laptops don't charge themselves and it's already getting dark out."

"You're a grown man, Sammy, pretty sure you can walk yourself down the street." Dean kicked the pillow that had assaulted him. It flew unceremoniously into the kitchenette, taking a mug with it which rolled before crashing to the floor and shattering. God, he needed a drink.

Sam moved to snatch up his pillow, obviously pissed off. "What the hell's wrong with you? You've been out of sorts _all_ day and now you're just being plain careless?"

"I'm fine, Sam," he shot back, taking his suit jacket off and starting to unbutton his shirt. He was not in the mood for this, his stomach was practically shouting at him in hunger.

"Yeah sure, and the copious amounts of alcohol you consume every night really show that."

Dean ignored him, scooping up his duffel bag and unzipping it, picking out his jeans and a t-shirt. He wasn't going to let Sammy get under his skin, his head needed to be in the game for the case at hand. At least, that's what he had to make his brother believe. Dean Winchester didn't do girly feels chats.

 _No chick flick moments._

Sam pressed on. "Sometimes it's like you forget I can read you, Dean. Is this about the trials still? What's got you so wound up?"

"Nothing, Sam!" Dean lied through his teeth, stripping off his shirt and trousers. "I'm just tired, okay. Let's just go find a diner and get some food so then I can hit the sack. I'll clean the mess up later." He actually wasn't lying about being tired, he felt ready to drop on his feet right then.

"Dean Winchester, you must avoid causing Sam significant stress."

The abrupt change in tone made Dean almost reach for the holy water on instinct. He'd almost forgotten about his brother's shotgun driver. Glancing over he just saw Sam's eyes flash bright blue. "Damn it, Zeke, can't you shut his ass up?"

"I think we both know that would only make Sam all the more suspicious," the angel replied.

Dean rolled his eyes, _stupid angels_. "How's the internal repair going?"

"Like I said, if you avoid causing Sam's heartrate to shoot up every few hours the process will be faster."

Dean wanted to punch a wall. It was a total dick move of Ezekiel to take control of Sam during a spat, even if he was trying to concentrate on healing him. "Whatever, dude."

"What?"

Looking up, his brother was back, Ezekiel having retreated undetected back within Sam's subconscious. He sighed, moving to hang his suit up. "Look, I'm sorry okay? I promise you I'm fine, it's _you_ we should be worried about. If you want your damn charger lead we'll get one. You know I get cranky when I'm hungry, just don't give me a Snickers."

Sam didn't look convinced but said nothing back, nodding his head. Dean knew he hadn't heard the last of this but at that moment he couldn't care less. Sammy was still his to save, to look out for, and he'd be damned before he let anything get in the way of that, including his own issues.

"Great. Now let's go get some grub before I eat a table," Dean announced, the lightness in his tone only half forced as he shrugged on his jacket. He still needed that drink.

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 **T** he bedside lamp bathed the wood-panelled room in a soft glow as the hunter was sat wide awake on the bed, a 6-pack of beer on the floor. It was 3am and he was researching on Sam's laptop just for something to do, the charger plugged in to the brand-new extension cable they'd purchased from a hardware store next to the diner. Sam was snoring softly, legs tangled around the sheets, his floppy hair covering his face.

Dean took a swig of beer from the open bottle that was sat next to the lamp. His brother looked peaceful and nightmare-free, no doubt due to Ezekiel's influence on his mind. It was good to see - Sam had been through a lot. He couldn't help thinking over the many times he had sat with the youngest Winchester during their childhood and adolescence, comforting away the night terrors, nursing the colds, patching up the scrapes. Dean had practically raised the kid at the end of the day.

And he would never stop. Sam wasn't a child anymore but he would always be his little brother, and as long as they were together, still operating the family business, Dean would give his heart and soul to keep him safe. He'd endured hell for forty years for Sam.

Both brothers had had their fair share of deaths and coming back, but Dean would never forget that first time. Feeling such relief at tracking down Sammy to that abandoned town, only to have that ripped away from him as another psychic douchebag stabbed a blade through Sam's spinal cord into his heart.

He'd never forget the devastating pain that tore through his soul as he held his brother's lifeless body in his arms. The one he was supposed to protect. They'd had some bad injuries over their hunting days, but _death_ was enough for Dean to sell his soul to the pit without question. And he'd do it all again, for Sam. He was letting an _angel_ possess Sam's body right now as it was the only thing keeping him alive.

Dean couldn't, _wouldn't_ lose him.

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 **Please review and let me know what you think - I promise cookies! Stay tuned for more :D**


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